


O gloria, you warriors

by 8611



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Historical Fantasy, Middle Ages, Multi, Norse Myths & Legends, Threesome - F/M/M, Vikings, Violence, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:32:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8611/pseuds/8611
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes up at the bottom of a waterfall, and finds a woman in armor and a man with tattoos to his fingertips, and a world made of mist and myth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O gloria, you warriors

**Author's Note:**

> Notes at the end to avoid spoilers, but for visual aids: [Bond](http://i.imgur.com/M3gGK.jpg), [Eve](http://i.imgur.com/mrFtO.png%22%22), [Q](http://i.imgur.com/N5pGG.jpg). This’ll make sense in a moment. Also, warning for sex in a cathedral.

He wakes up at the base of a waterfall, on his back, staring skyward through the mist. He’s wet and cold, and his body aches pretty much everywhere. Groaning, he pulls himself up into a sitting position, blinking in the wet air and running a hand through his hair, his shoulder protesting at the movement. 

He looks around, sees a standard bottom-of-the-ravine type situation, and pulls his body up to start the long walk away from the waterfall. The ground is wet, and it’s slow going, his aching body and moisture-logged coat weighing him down. He eventually just strips the heavy wool off, leaving it beside the river, and continues on, his holster and shirt stuck to his skin. 

He’s walked what he thinks is about a mile when something pulls at the back of his mind and, through the rush of the water, he can hear movement. He draws his pistols without much though, ranging wide with eyes and arms to pinpoint it. 

There – he looks up, hands following his eyes, and finds two faces poking over the edge of the ravine, one with a metal headband holding back her hair and the other partially obscured by a dark hood. 

“You look like you could use some help,” the woman calls, smiling. “If you go about another thirty meters there’s an access point.”

He doesn’t trust unbidden helpers, but he’s also sick of walking through a wet ravine, so he follows the woman’s directions and finds a face of rock with handholds so perfect they must have been carved. He hauls himself up, ignoring his shoulder and the ankle he’d figured out was twisted on his walk, and eventually finds himself on his back in the grass, staring up a blue sky with perfect clouds, kneading at his shoulder with his other hand. His feet dangle over the edge, into the ravine, and he sighs, closes his eyes for a moment.

When he opens them, there are the faces again, and now he can see that the woman is clad in streamlined armor to match her headband, and she’s got a glaive held in one hand, a bow and quiver on her back. The other person is young, almost too young, and when he pushes his hood back he reveals an unruly mop of hair and a little grin. There are two short swords across his back, their grips and guards visible over his shoulders.

“If you’re going to kill me, might as well just do it,” Bond says, scrubs a hand across his face. 

“Nope, you’re coming with us,” the boy says, and his voice is deeper than Bond expected – maybe not such a boy then. 

“Lucky me,” Bond says, and accepts a helping hand up to his feet from the woman, the metal of her gauntlet cutting into his palm. 

“Where was your start point?” She asks as Bond adjusts his holster and cracks his wrists. 

“Bottom of that waterfall-“ he turns, pointing, and the words stall in his mouth. There it is, over in the distance, and it’s absolutely massive. It’s tucked into the green and gold of the plateaus around it like a knife slice, and he can even hear it still. He has no idea how he’s still alive.

“Not everyone goes over Gullfoss and survives,” she says, and there’s a note of appreciation in her voice. “I wouldn’t try it again.”

“Not planning on it,” he says. 

“Shall we?” The not-boy asks, and he leads off, and Bond follows him and his intricately carved swords, strapped across his back like a promise. 

\---

The young man, as Bond has revised him to in his head, is named Q, and the woman is Eve. They stop in an abandoned stone temple for the night, after a long day walking across these strange plains with their sudden cliffs, and Bond watches out of the corner of his eye as they strip out of heavy cloaks and armor and reveal skinny limbs and, in the case of Q, tattoos and a bracelet that looks like it’s been soldered around his wrist, a permanent fixture. It looks like an elongated hammer shape, wrapped around one incredibly thin wrist, elegantly engraved and decorated. 

Under all her silver armor Eve is wearing gold, and when she stretches out her bare feet towards the fire they’ve made, she glows. Q sits next to her, swords still on his back, and Bond feels almost out of place, in his simple clothes next to two people who seem to be warriors in a more archaic sense of the word that he’s used to. 

Still, he is aware, somehow, that all three of them will get their hands dirty and that none of them will mind too much. 

Q is the first to fall asleep, curled up on himself, tucked into a corner under a statue of Muninn rendered much too large, so that it becomes human sized and looms over the temple. (Huginn is across the room, kitty corner and in an eternal staring contest with the other raven.) 

_Memory_ , Bond thinks, and wonders if he has memories of Q from somewhere else, but he assumes he’d remember very clearly if he met a strange man with sharp eyes and tattoos from his fingers up to his shoulders. 

Eve sleeps near the fire, and no one mentions anything about watches, so Bond eventually drifts off to sleep as well, on one of the benches that line the walls. He stares up at the ceiling, where the smoke is drifting towards a hole in the roof, and wonders if he can make out the stars through that gap, but all he sees is the curl of grey and black air. 

\---

The next day they come across a dusty little town in the middle of an open plain, as if some thoughtless god has left it there. 

“Ah, that’s one of yours then,” Q says.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Bond says, because he is honesty confused as they walk up this strange main street, lined with rough wooden buildings, all empty. 

“Every new personally alters the world,” Q says. “There’s a cathedral on Vatnajökull that’s Eve’s – we’ll take you there sometime, it’s lovely.” 

Bond is suddenly aware that he doesn’t have a single memory before he woke up at the base of that waterfall, nothing but his name and how to shoot a gun. He stops dead in the dust, and in one fluid movement, hands quick and blunt, he has pistols pointed at the back of two skulls. Q and Eve must sense something, because just as liquid quick they’re armed, Eve with an arrow nocked and Q with his swords in a firm grip, held at his hips. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Eve warns. “We’ll win.”

“I’m a quick shot,” Bond says. 

“I make the rules though,” Q says, and there’s warning in his voice. “Put the guns down.”

“Why can’t I remember anything?” Bond says, growls, and advances on them, and when he’s a second from pressing metal to flesh his guns are suddenly back in their holster, hands empty. He stares at Eve and Q, anger churning in his gut, because none of this makes sense. None of this works. 

Q’s eyes are hard, but he doesn’t look angry. The sky shifts, and for a moment it’s broken, blocks missing from the perfect blue to reveal black, a broken image, and then everything has settled again, and Eve’s bow is away and so are Q’s swords. They’re all close, close enough to touch, and Eve reaches out, cradles Bond’s cheek in one hand that’s not nearly worn enough to know bow and glaive. 

“Stop worrying us,” she says, and Bond knows in that moment that she’s met him before, in those memories he doesn’t have access to. 

“Save,” Q says, and his voice is too loud, and sounds like it’s coming from everywhere. “Reboot.” 

\---

Bond wakes up at the base of a waterfall. He walks the ravine, finds the access point, finds Q and Eve on the grass above him. 

“I thought you told me never to go over that thing again,” Bond says, and Eve just smiles. 

“People will sing songs about your waterfall skills one day, I’m sure,” Eve says. She hands over his pistols, which he hadn’t had this time when he woke up. He holsters them, snaps them in place, and accepts a coat, a dry version of the one he’d had originally, from Q. 

“Expecting cold weather?” Bond asks. 

“Snow,” Q says. 

“Good. I expect an explanation,” Bond says, and Q nods. 

“I shouldn’t have put you in without your knowledge,” Q says as they walk, his cloak trailing in the increasingly dead grass, the temperature dropping at an alarming rate. 

“It was an order,” Eve reminds him, hand on his arm. Her gauntlets stand out against the gray-green of Q’s cloak. 

“I could have said it wasn’t ready,” Q says. Bond is about to ask a question when suddenly they’re surrounded by mist, and when it breaks, just as quickly, there are shifting beings around them, tall and dark (not in color, but in absence of light), and Bond finds himself back to back with the other two, pistols pointed at the creatures. There are cracks in the frosted grass and earth, like they’d come from underground.

“Q?” Eve asks, and there is an edge to her voice. 

“Not me,” Q answers. “It’s actual gameplay.” 

“Let me guess, you want to test it,” Eve says, grumbles, and Bond can see Q grinning out of the corner of his eye. 

“What are they?” Bond asks. “And will shooting them do anything?”

“Dökkálfar,” Q answers. “And yes, you’re not armed with a useless weapon, that would be stupid.”

“Of course,” Bond says dryly, and then opens fire. He can see, feel, Q and Eve moving, and Eve is a shimmering blur, and Q looks like he’s dancing among the darkness, swords humming and alive in his hands. 

The bullets punch holes in the Dökkálfar, make them wail some unholy sound, and when Bond manages to shoot one in the head (he can see bright, dark eyes that glow red in the shifting smoke) it sobs, cries, and vanishes in a breeze that ruffles the grass and Bond’s hair. He looks to his left in time to see Eve cleave one in half and then to his right to watch as Q drags his swords in opposite directions to slice the last one’s head off, the two pieces separating like mist. 

It is sunny again, and the cracks in the earth are gone. Q’s swords and Eve’s glaive are dripping something that looks like water, darkness trapped in the drops, and Q wipes the blades off on his hips before sheathing them. 

“An explanation would be good,” Bond says, because he’s a bit done with this all. 

“Let’s get to the temple,” Q says. 

By the time they reach it the wind is playing havoc with the tattered banners that are posted on poles around the building, and there are clouds overhead, obscuring the sun. The moment Q gets the heavy door shut behind them Bond can see snow falling through the narrow, high windows. 

“Nice timing,” Eve says, and Q just smiles. Eve gets a fire going again in the pit in the middle of the temple and they sit around it, three points of a constellation, and Q sighs, drawing his knees up to his chest. His tattoos shift over the curves of his arms in the firelight, and Bond watches them for a moment before looking up to his face, the weariness in his eyes. 

“You’re in a game,” Q says finally. 

“What game?” Bond asks.

“It doesn’t have a name yet,” Q says. “I’ve just got it listed under a file number designation, the same as all our other projects.”

“Are you a…” Bond struggles for the word, unsure of what it would be, “game designer?”

“Programmer,” Q answers. He looks up, meets Bond’s gaze. “We work together.”

“I don’t know anything about computer programming,” Bond says. 

“I know,” Q says, and there’s a smile on his face. 

“You and I are field agents,” Eve says. “Or, I was. You still are.” 

“In the actual word?” Bond asks. 

“Of course,” Q says. “You’re ah… there’s no way to put this delicately. You’re currently in a coma.” 

“A coma,” Bond repeats, eyebrows raising. 

“The game hasn’t had any testing yet, aside from me, and when you ended up in a coma M asked me to put you in to keep your mind active.”

“But it looks-“

“Real? Yes, well, you’ve got electrodes in your skull right now. I can guarantee you the graphics are much better for you than Eve and I.” 

“So when the sky fractured, after you took my guns?”

“Broken pixels because I was hacking the game in real time. I couldn’t keep everything together.” 

Bond is silent for a moment, and he leans back on his hands, stares up at the ceiling again, at the swirling smoke. 

“So how are you here?” Bond asks finally. 

“VR bands,” Q says. “Like I said, the graphics are much better on your end. We’re aware of the fact that we’re in a game because it looks like it. A very, very highly rendered one considering we’re running the graphics engine off of the SIS mainframe, but a game none the less.”

“Why would you do something like this though?” Bond asks, and he feels useless, powerless, and it makes him unsettled, something that doesn’t sit well with him. 

“Training,” Eve answers. “I believe the military is very keen to get their hands on a finished copy.” 

“Show me,” Bond says, and Q and Eve look uneasy. 

“You’re sure?” Q asks.

Bond just nods.

“Save,” Q says, and there’s his voice from the walls, the fire, all around them again, and he reaches up as if to pull a pair of glasses off and vanishes, making Bond nearly jump out of his skin. There’s a hand on his arm, and he looks over to find that Eve has scooted next to him. 

“It’s fine,” she says. “Just relax.”

The temple vanishes and in its place is a desert. The warmth of the fire is gone, replaced with scorching air, and Bond is aware that they’re on the edge of some kind of military base, and that there are helicopters overhead. He stands up in a hurry, Eve coming with him, and he sees that the base is signposted – _Camp Bastion_. He knows that name. 

“We’re in Afghanistan,” he says. 

“Simulation,” Eve says. “Now do you see?”

Bond just nods. There is gunfire, and then, blissfully, everything goes black and he finds himself at the bottom of a waterfall, and he welcomes the moisture in the air and the blue sky above his head. 

\---

Q gets them involved in a number of fights over the coming days, with more Dökkálfar (these are sharper, harder, and leave them with thin razor cuts on their exposed skin), a giant wolf (Bond hates that one, gets sent back to his save point with his entrails hanging out), and a flock of ravens that leave Q without his eyes, on his knees before he vanishes and they find him at the temple.

“This is your start point,” Bond realizes. “Where’s Eve’s?”

“The cathedral on Vatnajökull,” Eve says. “Which is why I try not to die, it’s a long walk. You have got to get midway save points figured out, Q.”

“I know,” Q says. “Can you blame me for getting a bit sidetracked?”

“No,” Eve sighs, and starts stripping out of her armor, which is stained dark red in places from the blood of the ravens. 

“Why the waterfall?” Bond asks. 

“It’s a joke,” Q says, and looks at Eve with a bit of a grin. She rolls her eyes as she pulls her breastplate off. 

“I shot you and sent you over a waterfall in the real world a few years back,” Eve says. “Q enjoys being a little shit about it, ‘oh, remember that time you killed James Bond’?”

“I’m assuming I didn’t actually die,” Bond says as he sits down on one of the benches, letting his head tip back against the cool stone of the wall. 

“Obviously,” Eve says. 

“Do either of you know what my vitals are?” Bond asks after a moment, and when there’s silence he looks up to find Eve and Q stalled in place, surprised, almost like they’re frozen. Which, Bond realizes, is a very real possibility at the moment. He feels slightly hysterical at the thought, twisted laughter somewhere at the back of his throat. 

“Uh,” Q says, after a bit, face twisted, “stable.”

“They’ve got no hope for me coming out of it any time soon,” Bond translates. Eve looks like she’s in pain. She comes to sit down next to him, leans into him, and Bond is surprised that when she hugs him he allows it, anchors himself in her arms with a hand over one of her elbows. 

“Let’s not talk about that,” Eve says, and Q joins them, and between the two of them Bond feels like he might be at home, in this strange place in this strange temple, and when Eve kisses his neck and Q slips a hand under his shirt at his hip he slumps against them, lets hands and lips ghost over his body. 

They curl up together by the fire, wrapped up in cloaks and coats and pelts that Q has conjured out of thin air (the fire had split apart in that moment, before coming back together as if nothing had happened), and Bond is glad to have the familiar feeling of warm skin on skin, because this he knows. 

\---

“Do you two ever leave?” Bond asks as he shoots at one of the wolves that had come out of the mountains, and it moves like oil through the air to avoid the bullet. “These things are obnoxious, by the way.”

“I know,” Q says. “I’ll answer your other question in a bit.”

There’s a sickening thump and a canine whine, and when Bond spins to try to get the wolf again he sees that Eve has her glaive sticking out of the other one’s head. It slumps to the ground, vanishing, leaving Eve with a bloody glaive buried in the earth. She pulls it free as Q slices at the remaining wolf’s legs, and it stalls the wolf just long enough that Bond can put it down with a bullet to the skull. 

They’re left alone, breathing hard. 

“To answer your question,” Q starts, and then out of nowhere there are ravens. One of them slams into the Eve’s neck, where she’s unarmored, ripping into the flesh there. 

“Oh hell,” Eve says, voice like broken glass, as she drops to her knees and her hands, coughs and spits blood out of her mouth. “Enjoy the walk,” she gasps at them right before her body vanishes, and Q and Bond are left to shoot and slash at the ravens. By the end of it they're both scratched up from razor wings, and Q has a cut across one eye, the socket dark with blood. 

“Your eyes don’t get along with these birds,” Bond says, wiping blood from his forehead as the last raven vanishes before it can fall all the way to the ground. 

“Not really,” Q says, dragging a sleeve across his eye and then wincing. They’ll heal as they walk, Bond knows this now, that bones knit themselves back together and skin closes at an accelerated rate in this world, but it’s still a bitch to deal with in the mean time.

Q trips over a rock a few steps into their walk and swears, wind-milling his arms wildly to say upright. 

“Depth perception shot?” Bond asks with a small grin at Q’s flailing arms. 

“Totally and completely,” Q sighs. Bond knows Q could heal them both if he wanted to, but Q’s been trying to streamline gameplay the last few weeks and he’s been doing less real time hacking. 

“So, my question?” Bond asks as they walk and Q’s eye heals. 

“Right, sorry,” Q says. “When we’re sleeping you’re put into a loop, so if you wake up you’ll see us there, but we’re actually offline.”

“So don’t try waking you up in the middle of the night,” Bond says. 

“Our response time will be extremely slow – I’ve got it set up on mobile alerts if you try to, but neither of us have the connection speed or processing to work from home.”

“I’ll just wait until you wake up on your own,” Bond says, and they walk on in silence for a moment before something occurs to Bond. “That still means you’re working 14, 15 hour days.”

“It’s fine,” Q says quietly. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Bond says. “Is this out of guilt?”

“No,” Q says, and his voice is fierce, and he’s rounded on Bond. “No, this is selfishness, so let us be selfish.”

“What?” Bond asks, taken aback, he’s never seen Q angry. 

“We’d be spending the time with you anyway,” Q says, and his voice is softer now, closer to normal, but Bond can see that he looks broken in a way, fractured like his broken pixel sky. “We miss you.”

“I’m right here,” Bond says, unsure, and Q just nods stiffly before starting to walk again. 

The walk takes them to the edge of a lake and a glacier, a gothic cathedral tucked into the broken ice, and Bond knows that this is where Eve is. They crunch across the ice and snow, Q’s hood up against the onslaught of cold, and the doors open for them. Bond is momentarily left speechless after his eyes adjust (it’s gorgeous, something out of a fairy tale, with colored light spilling across the floors and a ceiling that’s so high that the night sky painted there must be real), and Eve is sitting on the steps to the altar, sharpening her glaive. 

“Took you long enough,” she calls down the nave, and when she stands up she’s wearing a golden gown and her nails are painted the color of a sunrise, warm against the cool, dark wood of her glaive’s staff. 

That night, in a room off the transept with a stained glass window that glows with the moon, Q and Bond hold Eve between them, tangled together on the cold floor. Bond breathes in with his face pressed into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, presses kisses there, and Eve urges them both on with breathy commands, hands locked behind Bond’s head and Q’s mouth is on her skin, his hands on her hips and stomach and breasts. 

Bond knows, in that moment, what Q meant when he said that they missed him. 

\---

In the mountains, on a path made of black stone and snow, they’re attacked by a man on an eight-legged horse with eyes like those first shadow creatures. The path is little more than the top of a cliff face, and he forces them back with a throwing hammer, the edge looming behind them.

“This is new,” Eve notes. 

“I thought I’d throw them in,” Q says. “Forewarning, he’ll probably kill us, I have a feeling I made him too high a level.”

“Oh good,” Bond says dryly, and takes aim at the horse’s knees, knowing they need to bring the animal down first, although it dances unnaturally on the path and makes it harder to hit it. Still, he gets four of the legs almost immediately, perfect holes of blood on one side and blown out wounds of ligament and bone on the other, dead center. Somehow, the damn thing stays upright.

Q’s just swept at the horse’s wide chest, leaving a slash and landing in a swirl of cloak on bent knee as Eve leaps over him, leading with her glaive, when pain blooms at the back of Bond’s skull. 

“What the-“ he manages, and stumbles, slamming into the rock wall on one side of the path, his shoulder sparking with pain at the impact. There is white at the edge of his vision and it feels like someone is driving a spike of red hot metal though the top of his skull. 

He’s aware that he’s screaming only when Eve is suddenly there, arms around him as they kneel on the hard rock and cold snow, and she tries to still his hands with her own, but he’s stronger and in pain. 

“Is he-“ he is aware that Eve is talking, looking up at Q. 

“He must be – fucking hell –“ Q reaches up and rips off his invisible glasses, vanishing, leaving Odin and Sleipnir frozen above them, stalled in game. The whole world has stopped moving, except for his screaming and his head breaking open and Eve’s murmuring, soft, quiet, her hands and arms around him, anchoring him. 

Reboot.

\---

Things swim in and out of focus; time passes and stops abruptly, sometimes in the same moment. He feels like he’s underwater, limbs heavy, sinking with nothing but blackness to return to. 

The first time he is aware of something for sure, it is bright light over his head, and for a moment he thinks of a waterfall and blue sky. As his vision swims into focus he instead sees ceiling tiles and strip lighting that sears at his eyes, and he grits his teeth, closes his eyes again. Even through his eyelids the lights seem too bright. 

He feels strange, wrong, and he takes deep breaths, trying to sort his body out, taking stock of everything. Arms and legs made of lead, problems moving fingers and toes, tiny jerking movements, nothing else. Back sore, as if from compression after a fall, or a long time flat, and he has a headache. He can breath though, and after the lights become less horrible through his eyelids he cracks his eyes open, blinking a few times to clear his vision. 

The tiles and lights over his head, plus the steady beeping of a machine somewhere and the rough feel of the blanket under his fingers, puts his mind in the frame of _hospital_. 

He sucks in a deep breath, and with every bit of effort he can muster, shoves himself up a few inches. It’s enough to see that Eve is reading on the sofa in the room, legs up over one of the arms, and that Q is splayed out on the floor on his stomach, messing about with a tablet on the tiles in front of him. Eve’s feet are bare, her flats on the floor next to the couch, and Q’s in jeans and a t-shirt. It’s all very odd, this sterile, real world. 

“You two look strange,” he croaks, and two heads whip towards him, and then Eve and Q are scrambling to either side of his bed, both trying to get him to lay all the way back down. It doesn’t take much, and he flops back down with a sigh, his eyes closing again because they’re hovering over him, looming in an extremely unthreatening and slightly silly way. He’s aware that he’s trying to smile, although his mouth feels odd. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have a suit of armor in the real world,” Eve says, and she sounds like there’s laughter at the edge of her voice. On one side of him Eve has a soft hand around his wrist and on the other Q’s fingers are drawing patterns up Bond’s hand. 

“It’s a good look,” he says, coughing, god he sounds like utter hell, “you should think about investing.” His tongue trips over words, but the resulting laugh from both Q and Eve means he’s been understood. 

The bed’s not really large enough for the three of them, but Bond’s more than happy to let them curl up on either side, warm and alive and real. 

\---

“Ready for round two?” Q asks, and the wind on the mountaintop almost swallows his words. Across the snowy peak Sleipnir is rearing, his rider holding a war hammer above his head. Q was right, the graphics aren’t quite as good like this, but even still, this world that Q’s woven out of myth and mist is gorgeous. 

“Always,” Eve says.

“I’m just glad I got to pick my weapon this time,” Bond says, and unsheathes the gladius at his hip. “I can’t believe you made me a cowboy, Q.” 

“I admit that was not one of my better moves,” Q says, spins his swords in tight, fast circles between his thumbs and first fingers as Eve drops one of her knees in a defensive stance, glaive in her hand. 

“We should do this quickly, I don’t know how long Tanner will buy the ‘rehabilitation’ excuse,” Eve says. 

(It’s been months, and Bond’s just now getting out of physical therapy, he’s technically been cleared for psyche evals, and he knows Tanner is probably hovering somewhere just outside of Q-branch, debating whether to pull them offline or not.)

“Lead on, milady,” Bond says, and Eve looks over at him, eyes narrowed, and he just grins in return. Eve is indeed the one to go first, but they meet horse and rider together, steel singing in the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I evidently felt the need to answer the question: what if .hack//, WoW, Norse mythology and Iceland had a baby and then you dropped Bond and Co. in the middle of it? Answer: _awesome_ things. Also, am I ever going to get tired of writing cyber!AUs? Probably not. They’re just so much fun. 
> 
> The VR bands that Eve and Q use are the ones from _Caprica_. Q having tattoos all the way down to his fingers comes from one passage about one group of possible Vikings (the Rus people) and is here solely due to Rule of Cool, because c’mon, full sleeve wood ash ink tattoos? BADASS. Bond, Eve, and Q are each supposed to represent a different time period: late 19th Century, late medieval and general Norse, respectively. Bond goes Roman at the end there (specifically with a hispaniensis, because those were easily the coolest Roman blades).


End file.
